


SECOND EDITION, 



THE 



GOLDEN LEAF 



POEMS. 



.BY. 



LELAH HARRISON BROWN, 

Author of *<The Golden Rod." 






SECOND EDITION 



THE 



GOLDEN LEAF 



POEMS. 



BY. 



LELAH HARRISON BROWN, 

Author of "The Golden Rod." 



KLUG & STERLING, PRINTERS, 

4105 EASTON AVENUE, 

ST. LOUIS. 



27824 



COPIES REG-IVEO. 



rfUloy9' 



Introductory. 

Lelah Harrison Browu, author of The Golden 
Rod, was born in Richmond, Va. She is the 
oldest daughter of the late Captain Charles H. 
Brown, also great-grandaughter of Job Wragg, 
of Manchester, England. 

As The Golden Rod and the first edition of 
The Golden Leaf poems have proved very ^5U0- 
cessful, she will edit a second edition to The 
Golden Leaf, containing many war poems. 

L. H. H. 



A Friend. 



A friend of whom we often meet, 

AVill find in us a place, 
And if his ways are very Ivind, 

'Twill show upon his face. 

His photo he may give to thee, 

A Ivind remembrance leave, 
That when he sails to distant land; 

His friendship still will cleave. 

And though he's far away from friends. 

An adversarial night; 
Yet in him lives a lov<3 that fans. 

And lieeps his memory bright. 

The best of friends are born to part. 

They lilce a fickle dream. 
That sometimes press upon the heart, 

And quickly pass away. 

Take Ye No Thought of To=inorrow. 



Take ye no thought of to-morrow. 
For to-morrow will take care of itself, 

Why loolv ye for pain or sorrow, 
Or hide it away to dream. 

Consider the lilies, how fragrant, 

Neither do they spin or sew, 
Yet God has so graciously clothed them 

With blessings He loves to bestow. 

Then why do we grumble and growl. 
Are we not much better than they; 

Come, let us have patience and courage 
And bring the bright sunlight of day. 

Then take ye no thought for to-morrow. 

For to-morrow will take care of itself. 
There's many a trouble to borrow 

Hiding away to wreck. 

What Do We Live For? 



What do we live for. 

Through morning and eve. 
Passing our moments on hopes to deceive 

Fond recollections 

What fancy doth tell, 
What do we live for, 

Ah! Wisheth thee well. 



What do we live for, 

And the years they are dead, 
Lifeless, forgotten, 

Through seasons have fled, 
What do we live for, 

We look up and sigh, 

Leaving this vapor a ruist of the sky. 

What do we live for, 

The prophets hath said, 
Down the dark ages, 

Through fiery dread, 
Bursting the chains of the merciless dread. 

What do we live for 
And the conquerors have fled. 

What do we live for. 

Our spirit may soar 
Up to the land of that eternal shore; 

Breaking the fetters 
Of life here below. 

What do we live for, 
Through sorrow and woe. 

What do we live for. 

To live on and on. 
Spending a day of that inglorious morn, 

Away from the tumult, 
Away from the strife, 

What do we live for 
An eternal life. 



Dewey. 

Hurrah for Admiral Dewey, 
Hurrah for Dewey at sea, 
When he led his ship into Manila bay 
And won a battle on the very first day. 
Dewey's the man for me. 

'Twas Dewey who led the band 

To win for the nation a land. 

Who conquered the Spaniards, 

And ever controlled. 

While the blistering stars of battle rolled, 

And brought Him down, the sulky one, 

Lost and wounded a Spaniard's son. 

Then Dewey's the man for me, 
For the waters would weep and sigh 
When he drove the Spanish the Awful Fray, 
And won a battle on the very first day. 
Hurrah for Admiral Dewey. 



The Runaway. 



Hark! I hear the sound of horses, 
Racing toward the mountain ridge, 

Down they come in wild confusion, 
Now they cross the bridge. 

And he comes, the steed of steeds, 

Powerful is he, 
Dashing man and beast before him 

To eternity. 

Hold him, hold him, who can hold him 

In this awful stage? 
Beating dust in clouds of darkness, 

How he doth enrage. 

Let him race to where he falleth. 

Let his anger have full sway; 
Sweating, blowing in great fury, 

Speeds this runaway. 

And he'll race till at last grown weary 
Powerless steed cannot control. 

Filled with anger, like the billows 
Over oceans roll. 

There, he's stopped with all his fury, 

Racing steed so proud; 
Fiery anger that enraged him. 

Bursting like a cloud. 



A Mysterious Beau. 

Matilda once had a mysterious beau, 

Who came every day to see her. 
And his usual way was to rap at the door. 

And say I've just two minutes to stay. 

Where would he go when he'd leave her house? 

He'd go right across the street. 
And there he would meet the prettiest girl. 

Whose eyes could seldom be beat. 

Where does he work or where does he live? 

Nobody knows, I'm sure; 
He visits each day some sweet little girl 

That to him her heart might give. 

Then he will come to-morrow, she said. 

Precise at a special hour. 
For in love's garden there blooms a flower 

That never blooms well alone. 



And he will tell of anotlier "little girl 
^^'llo lives very close to the river, 

'Where the P'ather of AVaters so gently pass-, 
Ho'W it brings to the heart a quiver. 

:So that is the way with these nice little beaux, 

Who come every day to see her. 
He'll sit awhile, then off he goes; 

Going lo see another. 



A Private. 



l\o happier a home than a soldier leaves, 

No fairer a spot he saw, 
'Tliongh it broke thf. heart of his mother dear. 

He tarried away to the war. 

And there he fought on the battle field, 

In the midst of a raging fire, 
AVhile volley after voley kept pouring in, 

There he stood like a noble sire. 

For his own dear counti-y he fought so vvel!. 

Heroic, proud and brave, 
And filled the place of him who fell. 

His old companion friend. 

And after years his mother died. 

Through a long, continuous war 
She often prayed to see her son. 

Yet never on earth she saw. 

Was he a general? What was he? 

A soldier I should say. 
Though not a history spells his name, 

But justice will some day. 

And not a monument marks his grave, 
Not a flower blooms there to tell, 

Yet a soldier sleeps beneath that sod, 
Who died amid the brave. 

So others live while he is dead. 

Then what does patriotism do? 
It does for those who are left alive. 

And speaks for them that fled. 



Frost. 



How drear are the days of November, 
When the bleak, chilly frost doth appear. 
He will scatter his coat, you remember. 
And bring to your eyes a tear. 



The blossoms, he'll never forget ihem, 
Nor down where the violets grow, 

How happy he will sing in thraldom, 
Happy for the glistening snow. 

For the snmmer he findeth no pleasure, 
In the broolvs and fountains that llow; 

But boast he proud frost of his treasure, 
Tliat over great towers he'll blow. 

And he chills all the earth in a mirlnight. 

He powders the forest and dell. 
And pictures himself in the sunlight 

For the morning he seeth her well. 

And delighted to climb o'er the steeple 
And listen to the winds as they sigh; 

Or cast a gloom o'er his people. 
That over the church yard he'll lie. 

For there where our loved ones are sleeping, 
'Neath the wings of the cold wintry frosL 

Where the flowers of summer were creeping. 
Are scattered over graves and lost. 

Then ftrear are the days of November. 

When the blealv, chilly frost doth appear. 
He will scatter his coat, you remember, 

And bring to your eyes a tear. 



The Lawn Party. 



JANE. 
Come. George, it's eight o'clock. 
Isn't it a lovely time to start. 

GEORGE. 

What's the use of so much worrying 
Over a lawn party, as you call: 

Plenty of time, no need of hurryhig. 
And you'll get there after all. 

J. 
Yes. George, but it's getting late. 

That Lawn party is sure to be. 
And. besides, there'll be Miss Kate. 

Who is coming by to call for me. 

G. 

"Yes I I'll go in a minute, Jane: 
Stop, there's some one at the door— 



J. 

Hurry, George; see if it is Mr. Pane, 
I hope it's not old Mr. Lore. 

G. 
Why: Good evening, Mr. Lore, 
Walk in, sir, I was just waiting, 
My sister at the door. 

MR. LORE. 

And how are the follvs, all right to night? 
Yourself and Jane, is she quite well? 

G. 

There she is and there goes the old bell. 
We are going to a lawn party to-night - 

MR. LORE. 
"Good evening. Miss Jane." 

J. 

Good evening, Mr. Lore; 

I'm sorry to say that mamma's not at liome, 

And, besides, we are going with Mr. McMore." 

MR. LORE. 

So am 1. and I'm going to take the Widow 
La Fay." 

J. 

You are too old to attend a lawn party. 

MR. LORE. 

What! Too old to attend a lawn party? 
A man like I, so well and haughty; 
Ah! Nay, my girl— just at a ripe age. 



Come, Mr. Lore, come have a =5eat. 
These girls are too anxious to run in clie ^'treet, 
If I had my way I would rather stay home 
Than to go to a party while there I would roam. 

MR. LORE. 

Don't fret about me for I know the way, 
I'll be there to-night with Widow La Fay. 

G. 

Are you going, Mr. Lore? 

Why, sure I'm going, and I'll be there about 9. 



J. 

Till glad he is gone and, I wonder wlio ihext 
Will come to bother me this very night, 
I will hnrry now and extinguish ':he light.: 

But oh! I'm so perplexed. 

GEORGE. 

Perplexed I No wonder! You ought to l)e. 
You should learn to be more careful^' 
And remember it is fearful, 

To act so hastily. 

JANE, 

What time is it. George? 

GEORGE.. 

Nine o'clock. 

JANE. 

Nine o'clock! Too late, too lati?. 
And there's Miss Kate. 

GEORGE. 

Hurry, Jane, and get my cane, 
We will get there just the same; 
X»e sure to lock the door. 

JANE. 

1 will; I'm ready now; ding, ding, 
There goes that old bell again. 

GEORGE. 

I-et it ring; come on, come on, 
And let the people stay and sing, 
For many tongues will ring. 

Trying, Doing, Going. 



Trying, doing, going. 

Three little words are we; 
Tells us of the sowing. 
What each one might be; 
Tells us of our efforts. 

As the moments fly. 
Rise to higher merits. 

Pointing to the sky. 

Thrown upon the waters, 
Bitter tears and grief; 

Struggling there he loiters 
And may find relief, 



Por the birds are working 
In the spnng-time glad. 

Busy with then- chirping 
Over what they had. 

Flowers fill the meadows, 

Fragrant do they grow, 
DoMai beneath the hollows 

Little streamlets flow. 
Over rocky byways. 

Doing all we can; 
We shall meet the bright days, 

Where the moments ran. 



The Summer Girl. 



The summer girl soon will be over 
With her bathing, fishing and ball. 

And longingly she'll look to winter. 

Where the old wintry sports can i-ecall. 

She has nothing to think of but pleasure, 
Which rolls every day at her door. 

Yet her own aspiring thoughts can not measure 
The Avorth that each moment aft'ords. 

And only a few that can see her, 

For the Gods of silver prevail, 
AVho control her estate and fortune. 

For over great waters they sail. 

Yes, her friends will ever be ready 

To join in the winter's brigade; 
Though society's not always the happiest, 

For the friends of society will fade. 

So the summer girl is not happy for winter, 
Like the aircastle and phantoms that rise. 

They are lost in the mist that assailed them, 
And the summer girl has lost her prize. 



Pleasant Hotel. 



Pleasant Hotel had just been finished. 

In the little town of Rye, 
And bills were being posted. 

Soon would catch the traveler's eye. 

There it stood, a massive building. 
Built by a man named Phelter Blain, 

Whose curious ways of planning 
Left his carpets in the rain. 



1 



The garret rooms had not a stairway 
Through the inner rooms and hall, 

So the tenant stretched his ladder 
Up against the crazy wall. 

Though it was a handsome building. 

It was special in disguise, 
For no one could be sheltered, 

Only them that knew the Ryes. 

Who axe you? cried old man Phelter, 
Have you ever known the Ryes? 

No; replied the country settler; 
I'm a stranger here in town. 

Do you suppose that I am trifling. 
Or for money talve what comes; 

No, indeed; I'll beg or borrow, 
Before I reut my house to bums. 

So the settler turned his footsteps 
From his neighbor so unsound, ' 

And departed from the mansion 
Where the real one might be found. 

It was useless for the wealthy, 
If they never knew the Ryes, 

To ever inquire of old man Phelter 
Or to ask him any whys. 

Weeks and days had passed before hi5n. 
Still the old, old phantom stood, 

Not a tenant to adore it; 
In a ghostly neighborhood. 

Till at last one gloomy morning. 

That a lady passing by 
Saw a man who was carrying a ladder, 

Who apparently looked shy. 

Is this rented? asked the lady; 

I presume this is Pleasant Hotel? 
Yes, Oh yes; replied the sailor. 

This is pleasant, a gloomy cell. 

Do you see me with this ladder, 
I'm to climb to the second floor. 

Not a glass that isn't broken 
And a room without a door. 

Ah, you say it's so inviting, 
W^ith its pillars stout and bold, 

That is all or ever will be 
For there's nothing here to hold. 



How did you get in this mansion? 

Aslved tlie lady once again; 
Wliy I knew tlie Kye's grandmother 

And they tied me to this pen. 

Didn't 3'ou Ivnow about the rooms, 

How you entered so and so? 
No, he said; the Ryes were prominent. 

And their relatives we must know. 

Well, I like it, said the lady. 

Will you get me in this hall? 
Mum, I'll try, replied the sailor, 

But it's hard to roll the ball. 

Old man Phelter isn't so crazy. 
While he knows exact and well, 

All about that ancient family, 
Wlieu they lived here by the dell. 

But, I tell you, said the sailor; 

If you'd like to move in here 
We can hypnotize old Phelter, 

That the Ryes will not appear. 

He'll forget about to question 

In a mood of childish glee. 
And will give a great confusion, 

That your mind can e'er be free. 

Old man Phelter, as they called him, 
Wasn't much given to mirth or joy; 

But to seek some one to quarrel with 
Was his nature from a boy. 

And the clouds that hid the sunshine 
From the site of Pleasant Hotel, 

Yet the old man never grumbled. 
But had thought the day was well. 

And the day passed, ever changing; 

What had happened to Pleasant Hotel? 
Never before such great applauding. 

And the sound of voices swell. 

Come, then shouted a tenant, calling. 
Come, move in here, one and all, 

Pack your furniture all together. 
Plenty of room in Phelter' s hall. 

So the people raged with fury. 

Rooms were filled with great and small 
And the once deserted mansion 

Changed into a lively ball. 



March around rnng tbrougli the midnight, 

Plielter danced the best he could, 
And the rapture that possessed him 

Made him most unusually good. 

Some never heard of the strange d»^lusion. 
Others thought it a good place to live; 

While the pleasure one brings does not always 
continue, 
People were left with an answ^er to give. 

Who are you, cried old man Phelter. 

Resuming the same old continual blow, 
Do you know the Ryes? he asked his tenant; 

No he replied; but I know so and so. 

Get out this minute, cried the selfish landlords 
Just twenty minutes I'll give you to leave; 

Do you know the Ryes? asked he to another; 
No, he replied, as he rolled up his sleeve. 

What a piece of business, exclaimed Mr. Pbel- 
ter; 

How came the&3 folks to move in my house; 
Move out, 1 say, every one in a hurry, 

And be just as quiet as a mouse. 

So pillows went flying from the fourth story 
window% 
Pieces of furniture were' smashed to the 
ground; 
Bed quilts were sailing in every direction. 
For peace could no longer be found. 

By George, cried Phelter, for he swore to the 
last, 

As he dashed every window asunder, 
I'll kill that sailor and kill him fast. 

Let nothing be left of the trash. 

So this Avas the end of Pleasant Hotel, 
That bore such a great reputation. 

And the old man died a cranky man. 
While his tenants lived long rnd well. 

The Ground Hog. 



Where is your shadow? Mr. Ground Hog, where 
The clouds look dim and the trees are bare; 
Where have you been hiding yourself so long. 
Can't you come out and give us a song? 

"Yes, I'm coming, my shadow you'll see. 
Out of this gloomy old cave will I flee; 
If winter is over I will stay outside 
Where the green earth and flowers abide."* 



So out of the cold earth the ground ho;;? ^-amo. 
If Avinter's not over, \yho is to bhime. 
And there he sung for the flowers to Mooni 
That were sleeping so long in their silent tomb. 



The Evening Sky, 



Words can ne'er describe 

The summer's evening sky; 
When the golden clouds of sunset rise, 

Like fairy cliffs on high. 

No royal robe like thine, 

Edged with celestial light 
That mount upon her firmament, 

In ecstacy and might. 

She hides her golden sails 

In buoyancy sublime, 
And through the evening sky she trails 

Her magic far away. 

No myriad of the deep. 

With banners all unfurled; 
That change into a diadem 

Above a dreamy world. 

And Where's thy destined way. 

The cloud burst and mist? 
And where hath Venus sat and dreamed 

Beyond thy leafy spray. 

Yet the fringing clouds sweep by 

And gather in the West, 
To die away in the setting sun 

In an unknown world of rest. 

Then roll us back again. 

This chaos of the sky. 
That in the midst of evening tide 

Thy changing scenes roll by. 

Cuba. 



Cuba. Oh Cuba; 

Bright isle of the sea; 
How soon will thy fetters 

Be broken for thee. 
How soon will thy sky abovv 
Echo such peace and loye. 
Cuba, fair Cuba. 

Bright isle of the sea. 



Cuba, brave Cuba, 

Oh, let her be free; 
Break o'er the grave waters, 

A silence beneath. 
Oh, drown the extorters, 

The sword in its sheath; 
And banish the Spaniards, 

Fair isle of the sea. 

Cuba, Oh Cuba, 

Thou hast suffered great wronj 
But soon will thy mourning 

Be turned into song; 
Thy freedom is coming 

To bless thee e'er long. 
Awake then. Oh Cuba? 

Brave isle of the sea. 



We Cannot Serve God and Mammon, 



I 

We cannot serve God and mammon. 

How often have we tried and failed 
To believe in two gods at random. 

What were our efforts but pain? 

Perhaps to some sort of amusement, 

What evil we say but fun; 
'Till the last resolution we carried. 

Like the sands of the hourglass vvxi. 

For the world will give us a welcome. 
To join in their wide awake throng; 

The church people, they say, are so meddlesome 
And the creeds are every way wrong. 

There's only one God and Master; 

To Him all the earth shall obey. 
For sin of itself is destruction. 

Then which will we choose this day. 



Notes on the Civil War. 



History tells of many wars. 

We speak about its cause. 
And when it once has been declared 

What man would dare to pause. 



We speak about the Civil War, 
What was it and what for? 

To free the negroes of the South, 
What are they after all? 



Between the fatliers and their sons. 

Between her kindred blood; 
Consequently there's no prize 

P'or the haughty ones that stood. 

This is war, a war with Spain, 

Where nations face to face, 
Where bloody waves o'er oceans toss'd 

Till freedom finds her pl^ace. 

What makes United States firm to-da:y 

We owe it to the boys 
Who fought in the Revolutionary and Mexican 
wars, 

And cleared for us the way. 

And where does justicereign to-day, 
O'er the boys who fought so brave; 

Some haven't even a monument 
To mark their silent grave. 

Through Mexican war and Indian war 
They fought for the United States, 

And where would this country "^tand to-day 
If tyranny should sway. 

And so we stand as firm to-day, 

United States is strong. 
But it's not on account of the Civil War, 

For families will go wrong. 

Freedom belongs to the one who feels 

His own conscientious will. 
We can slave ourselves to society. 

Which has often been known to kill. 

And God above shall spread the hand, 

Of justice when He comes; 
And open the graves of them that sleep, 

His patriotic band. 



Our Garden. 



Do you remember our garden Alice, 

In the days of old; 
How we built us each a palace. 

Lining it with gold. 
How we built a fence around it; 

Tiny bits of stone, 
And we sometimes made a garret, 

Leaving not alone. 



Tlioiigli it was a child-like fancy. 

And our day dreams long; 
IIow we loved to hear old Nancy 

Singing some sweet song. 
How she used to rake the garden. 

Bringing in our toys, 
Calling us such naughty chilin', 

:Making such a noise. 

It was there I met you, Alice, 

In the garden lane, 
And for you I built that palace 

Over twice again. 
We were happy and no sorrow 

Could molest us there. 
We were ready for the nioraw. 

In the sunlight fair. 

And w^e rac'd o'er hils together. 

Nature all aglow; 
Across the meadow to the heather. 

There we loved to go. 
Though I've parted from you Alice, 

From tliat garden lane, 
Still I'd love to build that palace 

Over twice again. 



Thanksgiving Day. 



It v/as the eve of Thanksgiving Day 

And the winds blew shrill and loud 
The forest trees would ebb and sway 
As to the earth they bowed. 

A little girl appeared, in sight. 

Who wore a rustic gown. 
And with a heart so very light 

She skipped away to town. 

Her village home was seen afar, 
Which shared the wintry frost 

And plodded deep the hills I saw, 
Her youthful feet had crossed. 

It was a day to offer thanks, 

For in that village stood 
The wealthy who in friendly ranks 

Had filled the neighborhood. 

The church bell of the village rang 
To hail Thanksgiving Day; 

While one and all with voices sang 
And sounded far away. 



Where was she going, dear little girl, 

With an earnest, anxious face; 
While on her brow a careless curl 

Had wandered out of place. 

My mother, said the little girl. 

Is very sick at iiome. 
And nervously she tossed her curl, 

As if obliged to roam. 

She tried in vain to reach the town 

Where her uncle lived so well. 
But the storm had torn her fragile gown, 

Beneath the old church bell. 

And pausing upon the old stone walk, 
Where the gay and wealthy stood, 

Who wouldn't for a moment dare to talk 
To a child so scant of food. 

So, placing her basket on her arm. 

With a face so calm and sweet: 
She said to herself there's sureiy no harm 

To ask for something to eat. 

And there she stood beneath the bell, 
Where many a soul would pass, 

Who never noticed w^hat had befell. 
But dodged the little lass. 

You have a home, a lady said. 

And carelessly passed by; 
As if iier tliouglits were plainly read 

And found to be a lie. 

But there was nothing home to eat, 

A mother sick in bed; 
While she had wandered in the street 

To bring her home some bread. 

And the whistling winds would shriek and 
moan, 

On that cold Thanksgiving Day, 
And the little girl who thought of home 

Had wandered far away. 

But the darkening shadows seem to fall 
And the day would soon be gone. 

And the simple want of a child so smaP 
Where would she be next morn? 

Her mother, tired of waiting still. 

Asked again, ''Has Mary come? 
Do tell her pray that I'm very ill. 

And tell her to hurry home. 



"I would like to have a piece of bread; 

How long lias she been gone? 
But oh, the p'ain that's iu my head; 

I'll die before next morn." 

She tried so hard tliat sacred day 

To get some bread and tea, 
But the world had said its childish play, 

There's always poverty. 

And there again went the same sweet chime 

Tliat rang from the belfry. 
Oh, God! she cried, as she counted nine, 

There's nothing left for me. 

'Twas bitter cold and the winds had sighed 
On that great Thanksgiving Day, 

Whose God above no one can hide, 
To Him she knelt to pray. 

Why didn't you tell me, sobbed a man, 
As he picked up the frozen child; 

I did, she said, but you only ran, 
For I looked so rude and wild. 

So she led her friend to their miserable cot. 
Where her mother lay dead on the bed. 
Cold and stitf, that some one forgot. 
Who died for the want of bread. 

Great God, he cried, my dear little girl, 
Too late e'er it is too late. 
1 did, she said, as she tossed a curl, 
And this was her mother's fate. 

So he carried the child to his mansion fair, 
Where she lived to be quite grown; 

While in his heart he learned to share 
And moan when others moan. 

Spain. 

Spain should pay the United States 

For the sinking of the Maine; 
Or help her orphans, widows all. 

And bear a noble name. 

She should be content now to let 

Old Cuba have her w^ay, 
And bind the tares of religious right 

And let Old Glory sway. 

For war is terrible to begin, 
And a dreadful length to end; 

Ayhile thousands of men are butchered up 
For loyalty defend. 



'^H 



8pain has warred tliroiigli ages past, 

'Tis time for lier to cease 
And seek to find a solemn rest, 

And dwell in perfect peace. 

The Lady in Blue. 



There once lived an elegant lady 

Who took a great interest to see 
Wliether her neiglil)ors around were prosper- 
ous, 

Or what the excitement might 'be. 

When the mail man delivered his letters, 
She was the first one to peep at the door, 

And say to her neighbor liow forsaken. 
Will you hear from your friend any more? 

And so went the routine of business 

Of this lovely lady in blue, 
Till at last the collector came tapping 

For her bills so lately came due. 

So he banged at tlie door of her cottage. 

For he had knocked so lightly before. 
So busily engaged with the neighbors 

That she heard not the rap at her door. 

Tending to other people's business 

And leaving her own cast aside. 
No woman she is, but a gossiper. 

Whose tongue should ever be tied. 

And the cause of so many divorces. 

Her home is no longer a home. 
But out on the street till sundown. 

And leaving her children to roam. 

Thorns and Thistles. 

We're designed to be encountered 
We shall find along its path: 
As we journey in this life. 
Thorns and thisth^s fill our pathway, 
Causing pain and strife; 
Tangling us amid tlie bushes 
Till there seems no end. 
Binding hopes that madly rushes, 
Lest we go astray. 

But w(^ see him in the distance. 
Cleared he is and free. 
And for him no happi^n- moment. 
But to-morrow where is he. 



Climbing over stonj' by-ways, 

Ca telling on to briars and thorns; 

Now and then a light that flickers, 

Steals another morn. 

And this life that might be generous 
Many thorns on many bushes, 
Causing bitter wrath. 
Sweeter than honey I'll be to thee, 



The Bee and The Rose. 



The bee said to the rose. 
P^ar above thy leaves I'd pose, 

Tiesting so free. 
Up in the morn I'd toil for thee, 
^lending the sweets on brier and tree, 
Breaking the air with joyous hum. 

Over and over. 

^Nlany a kiss I stole from thee 

Little rose so fair. 
And the world we too can share. 

Happy are we. 
We are Jiaving the greatest time, 
Over the bushes the birdlings chime 
And the hills where the sun doth shine 

Is rich and rare. 

The grasshopper' would like to win. 

If he dared to try 
Dancing a'roiind my dear little rose 

When there is none by. 
Oh, I see, I'm watching him. 
In a moment I'll be in, 
And there will be a serious war 
Before the day shall close. 



England Drawing Up with America. 



Our kindred minds are ever firm. 
That deadly s-eed hath lost her germ, 
And join with us in heart and hand. 
That spread our land. 

They've seen our boys who took the lead 
And fought with those of different creed; 
Nor shrunk from danger e'er they knew 
That side by side the gray and blue. 

Oh. countrymen of British, sea. 
Could brave America bow her knee. 
When all along her battles won. 
From father to father and son to son? 



It brings to thee a brigliter sky, 
When America's ships go sailing by. 
With outstretched arms across the sea 
We have their heartfelt sympathy. 

And twain we stand from shore to shore, 
Onr British foe is foe no more; 
They too have longed for sacred peace, 
W^hen wars and strife shall cease. 



Harvest. 



The harvest is passing before us; 

Oh why do ye linger and wait. 
The Reaper is coming to give us. 

And ready He stands at the gate. 

» 

The broad fields of summer are turning 
The bright fields of June have all passed. 
The streamlet will cease from her murmuring 
Then why do these changes not last. 

The deep, fertile valley and hill top, 
Bedecked in Nature's deep green, 

What could have changed the bright dew drop. 
The trees of the forest, I ween. 

The cowslips that bloomed in the Spring time, 

In gardens and hedges for thee; 
Oh, where are they now and maybe, 

"Even to the birds that twine. 

They are dead, yet waiting for summer, 
■ Tlie winter will pass like the spring 
And we'll hear in the distance a murmur 
For the glory that nature will bring. 

For time doth not say I will linger, 
Nor for you will my days I prolong. 

Not the spring will not wait for the singer. 
But the singer hd ready with song. 

So the fireside will bid us a welcome, 

Its fagot still burning so bright; 
The cricket, whose song is less blithsome, 

The harvest may meet us to-night. 

So the harvest is passing before us. 
The Reaper has gathered them in. 

The seeds of the summer shall bless as. 
Then turn, says the Reaper, from sin. 



The Sunflower. 



Happy blooms the bright sunflower, 

Nevath the smiling sun, 
Spreading out her broad green leaves, 

Where many an eye hath won. 

And she nods in the breezy air, 

Lifting her head so high, 
Sipping the dew at early morn 

From the beautiful sky. 

Gaily she blooms in the garden lane. 

Gladdening the earth so fair; 
Happy, awaiting a shower of rain. 

Raising her head once more. 

She does not complain of leaves being wet. 

Too glad of summer shower, 
And musters up courage to bloom again; 

So blooms the bright sunflower. 



If We Could Have Our Way. 

If we could have our way of things, 

To rule the earth and sky, 
What would be our government. 

Our laws that pass us by? 

We'd spite the ones that spited us. 

To whom no spite w\as given. 
And change the earth from sphere to sphere. 

And change the place of heaven. 

We'd gladly have the earth to dwell. 

We'd have the sun and moon. 
And close the way of every storm 

That came to us too soon. 

We'd travel Mars in airy ships, 
And plant a vineyard there, 
And build a road to Jupiter, 
With needless thought and care. 

We'd rise above the ocean deep 

And pounce upon our prey; 
And let the w^aters cover them. 

Who trampled in our way. 

And still we'd live in discontent, 

Unsatisfying man 
To man a purpose God hath sent, 

And God is best to rule. 



Loss of the Maine. 



Beware ye tyrants of the Maine, 

Who sunk our battleship. 
Beware, ye bloody war-like Spain, 

AVhO'Se fiery deeds hath swept. 

Who dare thee sail our Southern seas, 

Invade our land a snare, 
Or caused America's blood to rage, 

Contingency declare. 

Ah, by the hand of wicked Spain 

We'd die to save our land, 
We'd die to whirl yon Freedom's flag 

Above the ship-wreclvcd Maine. 

The bravest ship of American land, 

That ever sailed tlie seas. 
No wonder she cauglit the Spaniard's eye 

And bent his aching knees. 

Dashed by the enemy's cruel hand, 
Slie crushed beneath the sea, 

She bore the vital spark of death, 
A monster in command. 

From treachery alone she sank 
Neath America's sunny skies, 

Sponged with the grip of heroic blood, 
She sank before our eyes. 

To thee alone we moan thy loss. 

Proud soldiers of the Maine; 
We still would watch thy onward flow 
Beneath the hand of Spain. 

Upon her deck the warrior stood. 

Who called upon his God, 
"God save our ship, our battleship, 

Where patriot feet have trod." 

But bursting amid yon Freedom's air. 

Till louder and louder came. 
She's lost, they cry, forever lost. 

Thus sinks the noble Maine. 

Then shall we drink that bitter cup, 
That shameful deed to hide. 

Or shall we rise to conquer Spain, 
And sink her noble pride. 



On The War Questions. 



Be not so fast to stir up war, 

Let Cuba thus remain 
And let lier patriot fires aglow 

If she means to war with Spain. 

For United States ha& fought enough, 

Ten thousands in the night 
Who sleep beneath the stai's and stripes. 

Who died for Freedom's right. 

What is to-day has been before. 

Poor people, rich and great. 
And what is war but a poor man's fight. 

That leaves the world to hate. 

United States is strong enough 

To put the boys to fight. 
She'll wave her flag across the sea. 

To show her colors bright. 

She'll send the rocket's fiery glat'e 

Amid the towering hills. 
To hail the enemy's vast reproach, 

His haughtiness to share. 

Through civil wars, through foreign wars. 

Through conflict o'er and o'er, 
What hath caused those blood-stained feel 

To cross our northern shore? 

To bind our soil with a tyrant's flag. 

To serve our mutual gain, 
To multiply their roguous deeds 

And sink you Freedom's name. 

So down the ages men have Avarred, 

And trodden down their blood, 
Till victory hath lost her sway 

Just where the nations stood. 

What was left then after war. 

Destruction, waste and bare, 
And where was peace but among the dead. 

For silence reigneth there. 

Spain should then be free to pay. 

Let peace her silence reign. 
For United States will cost her more 

Than the sad, disastrous Maine. 



Anthem of Christtna^ 



'Oil, swell the great anthem 

Of Christmas once more; 
Break the glad tidings 

P'rom rocky bound shore. 
'Till all the earth Mith her sacred refraim, 
Christmas is coming and Christmas again. 

"Tell the wide ocean that Christmas is here, 
Mount her white sails through a motionless 
sphei^ ; 

Sing ye vast islands, Oh sing with delight; 
Rejoice in a Savior for Christmas this night. 

Let all the eartb with her music enjoin, 
llepeat the grand anthem of Christmas bright 

morn; 
Oh, mingle ye voices where the savage be 

found. 
Chirstmas is coming, 

We heareth the sound. 

We adore thee, bright Christmas, 

Our thankfulness prove 
Thy infinite light 
, Will carry us through. 
Oh, ring the glad tidings 

Through forest and vale; 
We adoi-e Thee, Oh Savior, 

Whose mercies can't fail. 



The Absent Minded Young Man. 



Well, bless my soul if I haven't forgot 

The girl I w^as going to marry; 
What is the matter? Am I insane? 

1 think her name was Carry. 

I was told not to go with a wicked girl, 

Who wore a long and ugly curl. 
But I can't, I can't and it puzzles me so. 

To know the girl I want. 

Good morning. Miss Betsy, are you the girl? 

That 1 promised to wed some day? 
No, she replied, and she gave a whirl; 

How miserable he seems to be. 

Betwixt and between, said the absent-minded 
young man. 

What a terrible trouble I'm in, 
I think, let me see, it is pretty Miss Fann, 

I will go anyway and see. 



I'm sure that I promised someone to wed 

And I know it s not Betsy Grey, 
But the sun only shines so liot on my head, 

I will ask this old lady near by. 

So presently the old lady came limping along. 
Apparently she seemed to be lame, 

Aren't you the one that I promised to wed, 
Please tell me I've forgotten your name. 

How dare you, how dare you! the old lady ex- 
claimed, 

AYith a terrible blow on his head; 
I'll learn you, she said, or any one else 

To ask such a question as that. 

So suffering much pain he traveled along, 

Endeavoring ne'er to ask again, 
'Till he passed by a house and he. thought it no 
wrong 

To see the young lady he kneAV. 

Weil, I declare, the young lady exclaimed. 
Where in the world have you been. 

I've been ready ten days for our wedding day 
And nothing of you have I seen. 

Are you the girl that I promised to wed? 

I declare I've been searching in vain, 
I've asked so many, yet they could not tell 

And I hope it 11 not occur again. 

I'm glad I have found you, as you have said; 

Very well, I will pack my trunk. 
And to-morrow, to-morrow we two shall wed; 

Prey l-^t me not soon be forgot. 

So the day is set and to-morrow we wed, 
Said th.' absent-minded young man. 

But by the way I've forgotten the house. 
But I think her name's Miss Fan. 



Dew=Drop. 



Fall on us. Oh gentle dew drop, 

Fill the fragrant air 
With the buds so soon to pop 

Open everywhere. 
Bees are humming 'mong the flower, 
What a world of happy hours, . 
And to dwell beneath the bowers, 
Happy and free. 



How we love yon, pretty clew-drop. 

What refreshing showers, 
'Falling on the lofty tree top, 

Down beneath her bowers. 
Across a sparkling rivulet. 
Where the grass of clew is wet. 
And the clover will ne'er forget 
The sparkling dew. 

We have seen you, little dew-drop. 

Early in the morn: 
Never could we make' you stop 

L-ike the playful fawn. 
Nature hath in need of you 
All the days of summer through. 
And you still have much to do. 
Ilesi ing by and by. 

We would help you, pretty dew-drop. 

Gladly if we knew: 
Ye it isn't for man to do. 

Nature can not stop. 
Quite contented we should be 
With our lot so plainly see. 
And a heart so light and free. 

Like the glistening deAv. 

We would miss you little dew-drop. 

Sad would be our fate: 
There would be no lofty tree top 

If you come too late. 
A¥hen the skies are dark and gray. 
Dew-drops then can never stay. 
And how dismal seems the day 

Till you come again. 

Then we'll leave you. pretty dew-drop. 

All the summer through. 
With the beds that love to pop. 

JNIinten with the dew. 
We have seen you in the morn, 
Happy on the brier and thorn, 
Waiting for the day to dawn. 
Precious little dcAV. 



The Starlight. 

Come let us look at the starlight. 
The beautiful light screen. 

And watch the stars as they twinkle 
In the heavens so bright are seen. 



on, wancTer beneath the starlight 
When the night is clear and still; 

We hear, ah we hear from the wooclland 
The notes of the whipporwill. 

From the shade of the vines that cover, 
Where the gay daffodills entwine; 

They are asleep, fast asleep, in the starlight. 
Beneath the bright stars that shine. 

While over the lake in the starlight. 
From village to monntains that hide, 

'Tis she who inhabits the midnight, 
The beautiful starlight above. 

Fai' over the rivers and monntains 
Their beams of bright glory we see. 

That shine from the starlight of heaven. . 
Wherever a mortal may be. 

And over the fields in the starlight 

That speak of a wonderful love. 
We are lost on the hillside and valley. 

Beneath the bright starlight above. 



Going^ Away My Darling:. 



I'm going away, my darling, 
I'm going away to war; 

I'll miss you in the morning. 
E'er I march along. 

You'll hear the bugle soundingr. 

O'er ramparts and plains, 
And every soldier bounding. 

Ready for the fight. 

Fighting for Old Glory, 

Dying in the ranks: 
After a while a story 

Of the fearful task. 

And I'll miss you. darling. 

Far away from thee; 
But still you'll be my best girl 

Wherever I may be. 

And when the battle rages. 

And I am killed, killed at last, 
You'll know I died a soldier. 

Amidst the hottest blast. 



Dreaming. 



There floats in life a mistic sound, 
From fairy regions far beyond 
That interpose our peaceful sleep, 
Where thoughts abound. 

They tell us of a long lost child, 
Whose weary years have laid away, 
And with a face so meek and mild 
He looks into our own. 

For man's strong will he cannot rest 
As he sleeps the sleep that knoweth best. 
From where his unknown future lies, 
His spirit yearns. 

And what IS dream, an idle thought 
That glitters far away; 
That agitates the human mind. 
And warns us of the day. 



In de Cornfield. 

It''; de time when dem punkins all am ripe, 
And de birdlings are going further south, 
When Miss Dianah shall pick up her pipe 
And dance with the niggers 
In de cornfield. 

Bring in de shoat and Samy's coat, 

?nv ter morrow will be a little shiver, 

Se coons ^1^11 be a singing, de possum up de 

river. 
How happy they will be 
In de cornfield. 

Dars de winter fast a comin', don't you see her, 
Like de birdlings, we better go south. 
Where de niggers will be singm , 
De buckwheat cakes a bringm , 
And happy we will be 
In de cornfield. 

Den come all ye niggers. 
We are goin' further south, 
WheTe dar's neb^r a breeze nor ashiver. 
Where de breezes all do play 
In de middle of de May. 
And happy we will sing 
In de cornfield. 



Battle of Manila. 



It was on the isle of Manila, 

Just at the break of day; 
Whence the thundering noise of battle raged 

And sounded o'er her bay. 

Like lightnings flashed from mountain cloud. 

Great torrents swept her shore; 
She shrieked and groaned and groaned aloud. 

Thus flowed the awful tide. 

She blasted o'er Manila bay, 

Whose shot fell thick and fast, 
And rooted up the Spanish deck 

Till darkness around her cast. 

She split the Reina Christina, 

As fragments o'er the lea, 
And battered down her gallant flag, 

A smitten hull at sea. 

While darkness o'er the battle spread. 

She stormed as ne'er before 
And pierced by shot and shell and sun 

Obscured hei savage foe. 

once more, boys, the Admiral yelled; 

Fire into old Admiral Spain, 
Break down the fleet that sails for us, 

Who sunk the warship Maine. 

And louder rolled the battle sounds. 
Which rained down fire and shell, 

'Till victory hath burst her bounds 
And stood the nation's star. 

At last a shout of victory hur'd 

Like rockets through the air; 
She tore aw^ay the Spanish flag 

And left Old Glory there. 

She mingled with her tidal wave 
The human blood of many slain. 

And heaped upon her ocean's foam. 
To find a lonely grave. 

Then raise Old Glory, raise her high, 
^o grander victory won; 
Who fought on sea 'mid fire and sun. 
And slew the Spanish fleet. 



God Giveth to Us. 



God giveth to us with pleasure, 

And taketh away again; 
If we seek not His kind obedience. 

Where the mercies of heaven descend. 

He giveth us too a full measure, 
Over running and filled to the top, 

And wisheth us to work not sparingly. 
For the earth is His great workshop. 

And His riches are all everlasting. 
He giveth us freely each day; 

To him that believeth shall findeth 
The peace that follow^s the way. 



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